Treacherous traffic...

We've cycled a mere two kilometres in Uganda when the boda boda's (bicycle-taxis) and other cyclists start pursuing us. In Kenya this happened quite often, so we're kind of used to it. They try to keep up with us and do their utmost best to overtake us. When this, with a proud expression on their faces, is finally accomplished they unintentionally block our way. Cyclists prefer to ride as far left on the road as possible or even on the verge of the road. Their fear of cars and trucks in immense. They're right to be afraid, but by blocking our way so often they force us to break heavily when they push our frontwheels of the road. It's frustrating that most of the times they turn around as soon as they have overtaken us, because they don't want to go the same direction we do.

Riding on the left side of the road, a heritage of the English colonial rule in these countries, we're used to it by now. Well, not completely. Every time we hit the road again after a break we really have to think: our first impulse is to ride on the right side. It's even more difficult when we're on foot: normally we look to the left and then the right before crossing the road. Both of us have saved the other from hooting cars and shrieking brakes several times. Yes, forty years of hospitalisation isn't washed away in a few months. Then again, when we're walking on the sidewalk (or something like it) we have to slalom to avoid all the other people who don't seem to concern themselves with the oncoming traffic. Is our sensibility so high or theirs so low?
Even more difficult, and especially dangerous, is dealing with car-drivers. This is a desperate story on its own. In Kenya we weren't very impressed with the driving-abilities of the average driver, in Uganda they drive even worse. At special actions like parking we like to watch (from a distance) how the sidewalks are being hit about six times before the car is parked (not even properly). This like steering through a bend in the road or overtake another car leads to panic situations. There is nothing wrong with that, if we weren't road-users as well. Very vulnerable ones as well. We suspect most drivers to have got their driving-licence for free with their airmiles or something instead of following lessons and taking exams. In the newspaper we read that buying a drivers-licence is daily practice in Uganda, which annoys the government very much.

Jinja

Between the border and our first destination, Jinja, there are a lot of trucks on the road. Hundreds of trucks loaded to the maximum and more driving to Rwanda and Congo. Luckily for us most truckdrivers did earn their licences themselves. They drive very well and are the most reliant roadusers we know.

After Busova, a tiny village on the road to Jinja, the road shows a long faint curve downhill. While we cycle there we 're being overtaken by a mad truckdriver who drives at least 120 kilometres per hour. We dive into the verge of the road to save our skins. The road is narrow, full of potholes and absolutely not suited for high speed. The insane truck rumbles swaying through the potholes while the load moves about strangely. To our surprise it actually manages to take the bend, doesn't fly out of it. A few kilometres further, we've forgotten about the madman, we encounter a police-barrier. Out of nowhere we see men, women and children come running with jerrycans. We are allowed to cycle past the barrier and descend to one of Uganda's wetlands (marsh-areas). In a bend to the right we see fat black skid marks from the road into the depth to the left verge. Behind it, some six metres down in the marsh, we see our truck. Shrubs and thicket are completely flattened on his destructive way down. The cabin of the truck drove itself deep in the wet earth. We don't have a lot of illusions about the driver's fate. In the meantime police and villagers are busy filling their jerrycans with the petrol that's so expensive in this country. Treacherous, or traffic?